response work 2

Social Media Entertainment !e New Intersection of Hollywood and Silicon Valley

Stuart Cunningham and David Craig

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Creator Labor

In chapter 0, we described how the network economics of social media, the innovation culture of Silicon Valley 1rms that own the platforms, and the technological and commercial a2ordances of platforms have created the structural conditions for the creator economy. In doing that, we proposed a revisionist account of political economy, empha- sizing the deep con3icts and creative tensions arising from the clash of industrial cultures of the two major forces in media and tech in the world, Hollywood and Silicon Valley. Our main revisionist e2ort in this chapter concerns a debate equally central to media, commu- nications, and cultural studies— creative labor. We argue, through attention to key literature in the debate, through exploring the con- trasts between SME and main media, as well as through the voices of creators themselves, that creator labor is both empowered and precari- ous. One distinguishing feature of creator labor that requires attention is that it, by necessity, works within an algorithmic culture— which engages another key debate in the discipline. Much of the scholarship in these debates is designed to reveal precarity and platform control masked by industry boosterism, rhetoric, and spin. We are animated more by seeking to trace the elements of empowerment in comparison to main media labor.

First, though, turning our attention to the distinctive nature and value of creators, we outline the scale of SME and consider termino- logical conundrums that o4en get in the way of analytical clarity. A4er establishing the theoretical frames for the chapter, we break down the conditions of creator labor into their component parts. 5en we exam- ine the problematics of the business models that underpin, as well as threaten, the sustainability of creator careers.

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Defining and Mapping Creators

5e rapid emergence of social media entertainment has contributed to a new industrial lexicon, with nomenclature almost as evanescent as a Snapchat post and considerable opaqueness about reliable data. YouTube used to release its revenue- sharing partner statistics every year, until it changed its policies and permitted every user to become a partner and thus no longer released such data. SME intermediaries, like multichan- nel networks and talent representatives, are no more forthcoming with their client data, emulating Hollywood’s notorious accounting practices. As Adweek declared, the industry is “secretive and lacks transparency” (Talavera >?0/).

5ird- party data sites, like Social Blade, o2er limited accounts of the scale of the creator universe. It is estimated that, in mid- >?0@, the top 1ve thousand YouTubers globally had at least one million subscribers; more than two hundred had ten million subscribers; and more than one hundred had a billion lifetime video views. Figure >.0 tracks the rapid expansion of the most popular YouTube channels— those with over one million subscribers. Across other platforms, the top 1ve hundred Twitch streamers have a minimum of two hundred thousand paying subscrib-

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Figure >.0. YouTube Channels with over One Million Subscribers. Source: Top 0?? most subscribed channels, Vidstatsx, http://vidstatsx.com/youtube -top-0??-most-subscribed-channels; Top /??? Subscribed YouTube Channels (sortedAby subscriber count), SocialBlade, http://socialblade.com/youtube/top//??? /mostsubscribed.

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ers, the top one hundred Instagram users have a minimum of twenty million followers, and the top one hundred Twitter users have twenty million followers and up. 5ese 1gures might impress, but they fail to distinguish native online or commercializing users from traditional media and celebrities, much less noncommercial users sharing cyber- space with their millions of socially mediated friends around the world. Arguably, creator scale correlates only as much with commercial value as a nation’s land mass converts into GDP.

SME publicity and in3uencer agencies generate research reports that add some further insight. Tubular’s State of the In3uencer Economy Report (Stern >?0B) claims that /BC of all consumers have purchased products based on in3uencer recommendations. Linqia’s “Value of the In3uencer Content >?0B” (Linqia >?0B) claims that @.C of marketers have incorporated in3uencer marketing into their advertising cam- paigns. Tailored for diverse clients, including platforms, advertisers, and creators, these reports provide as much spin as substance while con3at- ing in3uencers with creators.

Terminology employed in social media studies and SME itself strug- gles with the proliferation of a “medley of half- neologisms” (Du2y >?0/a). SME terms build on earlier understandings of the blurred dis- tinctions among producers, consumers, and users in the digital space. 5ere is a long genealogy (see Hartley et al. >?0D) of terms building on Alvin ToEer’s concept of prosumers (0F@?), which was later adopted as a marketing concept to describe the rise of Web >.? technologies in the early >???s. Later, Axel Bruns (>??@) coined the term “produs- ers,” about which José van Dijck (>?0D) remarked, “[T]he problem with overly optimistic re- conceptualizations of the audience as ‘users’ or ‘produsers’ is that many professionals as well as scholars ignored the role of technologies, business models, and governance structures in the construction of social media platforms” (Moe, Poell, and van Dijck >?0.).

Studies of SME creative labor employ a multiplicity of terms. Denise Mann (>?0G) refers to “YouTube talent partners,” Brooke Du2y (>?0/a) alternates among “creative workers,” “bloggers,” and “content creators,” and John Caldwell (>??F) calls them “alternative media producers,” whereas Crystal Abidin (>?0.a) uses the term “in3uencer.” None of these uses means the scholars’ positive endorsement of their implications. In

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particular, “in3uencer” has become a term that marks the commercial value to advertisers who are engaging with these creators in the com- mercial practice of what they call “in3uencer marketing,” which will be described in greater detail later. However, in our 1eld research, we found that creators o4en rejected this term as pretentious or insulting, over- writing the cultural and communitarian value of their work.

5eresa Sen4 (>??@) coined the term “micro- celebrity,” which Abidin (>?0.b) also uses. Alice Marwick and danah boyd (>?0G) say this term “involves viewing friends or followers as a fan base; acknowledging pop- ularity as a goal; managing the fan base using a variety of aHliative tech- niques; and constructing an image of self that can be easily consumed by others” (Marwick and boyd >?0G, 0G?). Anne Jerslev (>?0.) takes issue with the term “micro- celebrity” as distinct from traditional media celeb- rity which, she argues, are o4en con3ated. “Attention- creating perfor- mances of a private authentic self are the most valuable commodity in social media celebri1cation” (Jerslev >?0., />G?). As discussed in chap- terAG, discourses of authenticity represent a core claim about the traits distinguishing SME content from that of traditional media.

Industry use also proliferates terms. Platform- speci1c terms like “YouTubers,” “Tweeters,” “Grammers” (Instagram), “Chatters” or “Snappers” (Snapchat), and “Viners” (on the now defunct platform, Vine) belie the multiplatform practices of creators. While our research has primarily focused on those who started (and continue) on You- Tube, 1rst- generation creators also entered this new screen ecology on Facebook and Twitter. Although these platforms did not provide partnerships for creators until recently, in SME 0.? creators found al- ternative ways to harness the commercial a2ordances of the platforms. In those countries where broadband and mobile speeds and access are slow and technology like computers and cameras are prohibitively ex- pensive, text- and image- based platforms have o4en been preferred over video. As technological and economic conditions improve, cre- ators have gradually migrated to video- based content. As second- generation platforms have emerged, a second wave of creators has used the newer platforms, like Instagram, Vine, and Snapchat. 5ey o4en avoid the 1rst- generation, highly scaled SME platforms to ap- peal to more de1ned demographics and take advantage of alternative

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a2ordances, like ephemerality on Snapchat and the brand- safe mar- keting ability and mobile accessibility of images posted on Instagram. Most recently, live- streaming has added more titles to the mix: “live- streamers,” “showroom hosts” (China), or “online,” “digital,” “mobile,” or “social” “broadcasters.”

5e multiplatform practice of creators o4en means multimodalities, whether text- based tweets, images on Instagram and Snapchat, or mul- tiformatted video across all these platforms, including YouTube. 5is means that bloggers (text and image), podcasters (audio), and vloggers (video) are all meaningful distinctions in SME.

5ere is no question that our use of the hyphenated “professionalizing- amateurs” may be confusing. We do not mean to suggest that creators are morphing into next- gen Hollywood talent, which we found repeat- edly contradicted in interviews with creators. Laura Cherniko2, the then executive director of the Internet Creators Guild, an organization “dedicated to promoting the interests of people making a living creat- ing content online” (internetcreatorsguild.com), asserts that drawing distinctions between amateur and professional creators has proven in- creasing challenging (Cherniko2 >?0.).

Further a1eld, Korea refers to “VJs” or “video jockeys,” with an etiol- ogy that dates back to the rise of MTV’s on- air hosts. 5e subsequent rise of live broadcasting, particularly across the popular Korean plat- form, AfreecaTV, has introduced the new term, “BJs,” or “broadcast jockeys.” 5ese terms curiously refer to the technological a2ordance of platforms (archived versus broadcast video), coupled with performance, as implied by the term “jockeys.”

In China’s “parallel universe” SME industry, the term “KOL” (key opinion leader) is dominant; however, the rise of in3uencer marketing has led to the use of “in3uencers” as industrial markers of their commer- cial value. 5e Chinese sometimes refer to creators as “Wang Hong,” the literal translation of which is “Red Internet,” but the term is more o4en used to describe online celebrities. A more pejorative translation would be “pretty girls,” which implies a lack of talent among the female fashion and beauty creators and live streamers that dominate their platforms. 5ere must be some talent involved as some of these Wang Hong are generating nearly I/? million per year (Tsoi >?0.).

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Having reviewed this terminological profusion, we use the term “creator” and de1ne this as commercializing and professionalizing na- tive social media users who generate and circulate original content to incubate, promote, and monetize their own media brand on the major social media platforms as well as oEine. 5is is consistent with broad industry use and connotes both the status of originator and the fact that SME is largely generated without the divisions of labor seen in main media. We look to avoid the pejorative connotations in terms like “in3uencers” or “micro- celebrity.” When we use them, it is under advisement.

Precarious Labor

A rapidly burgeoning literature has developed around the notion of pre- carious labor— much of it focused on the speci1c condition of creative labor in the cultural and creative industries (for example, McRobbie >??>; Terranova >??G; Deuze >??B; Scholz >??@; Rossiter >??B; Gill and Pratt >??@; Ross >??>, >??B, >??F). 5is debate has largely been con- ducted in the mode of a wide- ranging ideology critique. Criticisms of the presumed overly celebratory accounts of the increased signi1cance of creative labor in contemporary economies have focused on osten- sibly neoliberal concepts of human capital and of labor that inform Panglossian endorsements of glamorous and attractive, but volatile and precarious, forms of work.

Indeed, in his panoramic overview of the state of play in media and cultural studies, Toby Miller (>?0?) characterizes the future of media, communication, and cultural studies as lying in just such a focus on labor. Characterizing the dominant paradigms as “misleadingly functionalist on its e2ects and political- economy side” and “misleadingly con3ictual on its active- audience side,” Miller argues that “[w]ork done on audi- ence e2ects and political economy has neglected struggle, dissonance, and con3ict in favor of a totalizing narrative in which the media domi- nate everyday life. Work done on active audiences has over- emphasized struggle, dissonance, and con3ict, neglecting infrastructural analysis in favor of a totalizing narrative in which consumers dominate everyday life” (Miller >?0?, /?). Miller’s third mode “should synthesize and im- prove” the dominant paradigms by its analytical concentration on the

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status of labor. He reminds us in the most ringing of tones, “5ere would be no culture, no media, without labor. Labor is central to humanity” (Miller >?0?, /?).

Mark Banks and David Hesmondhalgh (>??F) summarize the grow- ing body of work on precarious creative labor with an emphasis on lower- and midlevel media professionals operating within dominant, powerful, consolidated, and integrated creative industry firms. The “ consistent 1ndings” of this work are that

creative work is project- based and irregular, contracts tend to be short- term, and there is little job protection; that there is a predominance of self- employed or freelance workers; that career prospects are uncertain and o4en foreshortened; that earnings are usually slim and unequally dis- tributed, and that insurance, health protection and pension bene1ts are limited; that creatives are younger than other workers, and tend to hold second or multiple jobs; and that women, ethnic and other minorities are under- represented and disadvantaged in creative employment. All in all, there is an oversupply of labor to the creative industries with much of it working for free or on subsistence wages. (Banks and Hesmondhalgh >??F, G>?)

5e negative critique of creative labor arises largely in response to the overly sanguine accounts given of it in earlier work to establish the provenance of the role of creativity and the place of creative industries in the modern economy. Charles Leadbeater’s (0FFF) Living on !in Air and John Howkins’s Creative Economy (>??0), for example, were early paeans of praise for creative labor, as indeed was Richard Florida’s (>??>) very in3uential account of the so- called creative class, which was held to comprise fully one- third of the US workforce. Howkins’s spin isAfull- on: “For these people, betting their creative imagination against the world may appear a more secure proposition, and certainly more fun, than becoming a little cog in a big organization or another bit in the information society” (Howkins >??0, 0>/). Leadbeater’s language is more measured, but it is still about the normalization of the working life of the independent knowledge worker: “self- employed, indepen- dent, working from homeA.A.A. armed with a laptop, a modem and some contacts” (Leadbeater 0FFF, 0). Partly this is a matter of genre: these are

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“business” books that, according to their genre, are breezy reads with lashings of what Adorno would scorn as “aHrmative” culture thrown in. (It is also partly because Florida is a genre bender— mixing his busi- ness pitch with straight academic social science research— that he has attracted more academic criticism.)

But it is important not to lose sight of the fact that even some of the most strident critics also aHrm the potential for “good work” that cre- ative labor represents in the modern economy and the undeniable at- traction of (relatively) autonomous labor that it promises (Banks and Hesmondhalgh >??F, G0F; Banks >?0?; Hesmondhalgh and Baker >?0?). 5is is a recurring theme, registered as a paradox by some (e.g. Arvids- son, Malossi, and Naro >?0?) but unfortunately o4en downplayed as false consciousness by others (hopeful entrants can be “seduced”; critical social science must “expose”: Banks and Hesmondhalgh >??F, G0@, G0F). We will build on such congruity, balancing critique and aHrmation, in our account of SME labor.

Conditions of Digital and Social Labor

5e debate on labor precarity has been extended into the newer tech, digital, and social media industries. In their account of fashion and new media workers, Gina Ne2, Elizabeth Wissinger, and Sharon Zukin (>??/) set forth claims around the rise of “entrepreneurial labor,” which blurs the line between media work and practice and personal identity. Entre- preneurial labor encourages risk taking and greater levels of 3exibility, with entrepreneurs “lured by the possibility of sharing in the pro1ts of risk” (Ne2, Wissinger, and Zukin >??/, D?F). 5e authors claim that the opportunity for “cool jobs in hot industries” more o4en resulted in lim- ited rewards and discrimination, which “does not bode well for either social justice or upward mobility” (Ne2, Wissinger, and Zukin >??/, DD0). With somewhat more critical ambivalence, Rosalind Gill (>??B) studied fifty web workers in Amsterdam, asking whether these were “Tech- nobohemians or the new Cybertariat.” Gill’s analysis considered how the strati1cation of labor and management in these 1rms contributes to greater job insecurity, but she also registers the appeals to greater forms of creativity, autonomy, and informality that motivate workers.

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Since these earlier accounts, critical accounts of digital labor have proliferated within research around media production. As well summa- rized by Du2y (>?0/a),

Recent interest in media work is also a product of digital media theorists seeking to conceptualize new patterns of productivity emerging in the fuzzy space between production and consumption; between labor and leisure; and between professional and amateur. In just the last few years, a medley of half- neologisms— among them, digital labor (Fuchs, >?0?; Scholz, >?0D), co- creative labor (Banks and Deuze, >??F), passionate la- bor (Postigo, >??F), hope labor (Kuehn and Corrigan, >?0D), venture labor (Ne2, >?0>) and playbour (Kücklich, >??/)— has emerged as scholars at- tempt to understand the implications of new forms of digital and social production. A central line of inquiry connecting these various concep- tual dots is whether emergent forms of productivity 1t within Marxist- in3ected notions of exploitation and alienation— or, instead, if digitally enabled modes of content creation and distribution “empower” audiences. (Du2y >?0/a, GGG)

As scholars have redirected their focus from digital to social media, new distinctions of social media labor have been identi1ed. Sam Srauy (>?0/) argues that corporate- owned platforms are exploiting the expres- sive practices of social media users, without considering that creators exercise agency as they engage in these same conditions. Mann (>?0G) raises concerns for how platforms and social media 1rms convert their users into consumers and “invisible labor as their consumer preferences are aggregated and sold to advertisers” (Mann >?0G, DD). Mann advocates for state- based intervention, regulation, and worker protections, which anticipates the formation of the Internet Creator’s Guild (ICG), launched by Hank and John Green in >?0.. We discuss ICG in our conclusion; here, we note that it is a direct response to such concerns and the 1rst signs of organized creator labor in this proto- industry.

In addition to highlighting labor precarity, critical and feminist scholars have fostered concerns around the heightened personal, emo- tional, and gendered nature of digital work, including accounts of “ a2ective labor” (Hesmondhalgh and Baker >?00) and “self- branding”

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( Banet- Weiser >?0>; Marwick >?0D; Marwick and boyd >?0G). Du2y’s account of “aspirational labor” (>?0/a) maps the discordance between the promise and uneven rewards a2orded female beauty vloggers, o4en underpaid for “doing what they love.” Du2y suggests how appeals to en- trepreneurism and creative autonomy represent a kind of labor ideology that masks the “problematic constructions of gender and class subjectiv- ities” (Du2y >?0/a, GGD). Our account of the representational practices of Asian American and LGBTQ creators in chapter / engages with these concerns around gender and class.

Recent scholars have contributed vital new perspectives in the on- going project of articulating the distinctiveness of digital and social labor, most notably the spatial and mediated relations between artists and celebrities and their fans and followers. In her account of “relational labor,” Nancy Baym (>?0/) considers the social and economic relation- ship established between artists and fans through communicative and networked a2ordances of social media platforms.

5e concept of “relational labor” abuts “emotional labor,” “a2ective labor,” “immaterial labor,” “venture labor,” and “creative labor” but o2ers something new by emphasizing the ongoing communicative practices and skills of building and maintaining interpersonal and group rela- tionships that are now so central to maintaining many careers (Baym >?0/,A>?).

Like Du2y, Abidin focuses on the gendered space of practices of female fashion in3uencers and followers on Instagram, and like Baym, highlights the dynamic of the relationship between creators and com- munities as compared to the traditional celebrity- fan construction in traditional media and culture. Referencing earlier scholarship around parasocial relations, Abidin describes how social media foster “ perceived interconnectedness— a model of communication in which in3uencers interact with followers to give the illusion of intimacy” (>?0/, 0). In3u- encers can appropriate this intimacy for commercial, interactive, recip- rocal, and disclosive value. In her account of “visibility labour” (>?0.a), Abidin considers the practices of co- creation conducted by in3uencers and followers from which in3uencers may pro1t considerably but that may also represent “tacit” and “insidiously exploitative” labor on the part of followers.

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Algorithmic Culture

Another element that further di2erentiates online culture from its pre- decessors is the digital trace that every action leaves and the consequent algorithmic culture that has been spawned. 5is debate is less concerned with precarity and more concerned with control. Critical algorithm studies has become a burgeoning 1eld. As of July >?0B, there were >DF items on Tarleton Gillespie and Nick Seaver’s (>?0.) “Reading List” of critical algorithm studies, and it is growing rapidly. As Greg Elmer etAal. (>?0/) point out, big data analytics can give us authoritative pictures of global warming and the e2ects of armed con3icts. Nevertheless, the focus in the 1eld is very much on the power of the algorithm as “a tool of predictability and therefore as a tool for social and economic control” (Elmer et al. >?0/).

But we need to qualify claims around the quanti1ed self and the quanti1ed audience in relation to the conditions of SME labor and production. SME creators are a signi1cant cohort working at the heart of algorithmic culture, and we need to specify better how they are impacted through surveilling algorithmic cultures. Consistent with our approach to precarity, we steer between positions of celebration and critical suspicion, o2ering an immanent critique of the limits of data analytics in shaping SME and controlling its participants. Our theoreti- cal framework, like that in chapter 0, draws on Foucault’s (0FF0) distinc- tion between power and domination. Power is relational, contingent, unstable, and reversible, and the exercise of power produces resistance to it, whereas there is a tendency in critical algorithm studies to view the power of agents in algorithmic culture such as the platforms as domination— one- way, supervening, and controlling.

Based on this framework, an “immanent” approach to social and in- dustry critique works within the terms set by the object of critique in order to expose its own internal contradictions. We o2er an immanent critique of the limits of data analytics and a broader algorithmic culture in shaping SME from within the industry on both the creator (bottom up) and the platform (top down) side. 5is is a limited, but strongly evi- denced, critique of the tendency to totalize notions of surveilling power and therefore treat resistance as standing outside of such power.

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As we have seen in chapter 0, the IT behemoths are having to come to terms with some of the fundamentals of SoCal media entertainment. Indeed, the ten- year history of YouTube since Google’s takeover can be written as a history of Google seeking to come to terms with the non- scalable fundamentals of entertainment, notoriously 1ckle consumer taste, and content and talent development, from its base as an infor- mation technology/engineering company dedicated to scale, automa- tion, permanent beta, rapid prototyping, and iteration. In this chapter, weAshow how creators manage the relationship between, on the one hand, the quantitative feedback generated by the data analytics stream from Google’s AdSense and many multichannel networks’ suites of busi- ness analytics, and, on the other, the qualitative feedback o2ered freely by the fan base. Creators spend at least half their working week interact- ing directly with their cross- platform communities and cannot rely on data analytics alone for either management of their channels or adequate revenue derived from programmatic advertising. Single- platform ana- lytics (such as the standard dashboard available to YouTube partners) are not suHcient and o4en induce information overload without real ana- lytical insight. Managing community interaction across platforms— vital for maintaining authenticity and maximizing promotion— signi1cantly extends creators’ workload. Unlimited word counts on Facebook o4en mean trying to limit the workload by attempting to direct engagement to Twitter, for example.

5ere is a range of nonscalable practices essential to success. A “trial and error” approach is prevalent; lots of time is spent “tweaking” vari- ous elements to ensure that content is able to 1nd a place in a crowded cultural space across numerous countries. 5is means ensuring that creators’ work is contextually relevant, which is in turn dependent on mastering metadata, video tagging, and copywriting for search engine optimization, including understanding di2erent cultural nuances and modes of engaging in multiple national contexts simultaneously. Cre- ators spend much time in trial and error, learning when work should be uploaded and ampli1ed, while working in seasonal, regional, and na- tional references targeting key viewerships in dozens of countries.

At the same time, the massive growth in scale of SME content has destroyed value— the click- per- thousand rate that drives AdSense revenue sharing on YouTube has bottomed out, driving creators into

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further nonscalable engagements to restore value (brand deals, mer- chandising, television and cable options, live appearances, and licens- ing content).

Entrepreneurialism and the Labor of Spreadability

Critical perspectives such as those canvased thus far need to be balanced with accounts of entrepreneurialism and the labor of “spreadability” that theorize agency, innovation, and reform. In their study of pre- SME online production culture, Adam Fish and Ramesh Srinivasan (>?00) attempt to “bridge the ethical challenges of labor exploitation as well as the promises of social entrepreneurship in the digital economy.” 5ey describe how “in related video entrepreneurial 1rms, such as Google’s YouTube and Next New Networks, we see business models emerging that are pro1table for both the freelance producer and the hosting 1rm” (Fish and Srinivasan >?00, 0GF).

Fish and Srinivasan’s claims parallel early scholarship by Jean Burgess and Joshua Green at the onset of SME 0.?. In their article about “Agency and Controversy in the YouTube Community” (>??@), the authors de- scribe how YouTube operates as a “cultural systemA .A .A . co- created by users. 5rough their many activities, the YouTube community forms a network of creative practice” (Burgess and Green >??@, >). In sub- sequent research, Burgess and Green (>??F) identi1ed the distinctive- ness of “entrepreneurial vloggers” on YouTube, which operates as a “key site where the discourses of participatory culture and the emergence of the creative empowered consumer have been played out” (Burgess and Green >??F, @F).

5e concept of participatory culture has been developed most fully by Henry Jenkins in work that started with Textual Poachers in 0FF>. 5at book analyzed the active participation between traditional media fans and producers that can contribute to co- creative content and cul- tural meaning. In Spreadable Media (>?0D), Jenkins’s collaboration with Sam Ford and Green translates the concept of participatory culture for the cultural and industrial conditions of social media. “Previous work on participatory culture stressed acts of reception and production by media audiences; this book extends that logic to consider the roles that networked communities play in shaping how media circulates” (Jenkins,

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Ford, and Green >?0D, >). Like Burgess and Green, Jenkins, Ford, and Green describe YouTube vloggers who “are entrepreneurial in the sense that they don’t just produce video blogs, but they use the trappings and practices of vlogging to court YouTube viewers, rather than just serve viewers content” (Jenkins, Ford, and Green >?0D, FD). 5ese authors de- scribe how community engagement and meaningful participation have the potential to generate greater value than passive attention from media audiences measured in terms of size and demographics. 5ey further describe the diverse strategies deployed in the development, production, and circulation of content in social media, including knowing when and where audiences want it and its relevance to multiple audiences, as well as its frequency— part of a “steady stream of material” (Jenkins, Ford, and Green >?0D, 0FB– F@). 5is scholarship contributes to our account of the strategies, practices, management, and working conditions of creator labor, including creator entrepreneurialism. Jenkins, Ford, and Green engage fully but critically with the commerciality of content and strategy, divorcing themselves from the techno- speak of virality. “Spreadable”— a term that grounds us in the stu2 of human labor— is the concept by which they displace virality.

Approaching Creator Labor

Like Spreadable Media’s authors, we look to compare SME creators’ labor with that in traditional media. All labor is precarious, but, as we see it, there are critical distinctions to be made, driven by the need to avoid the “idealized, oppositional binaries” that Fish and Srinivasan found in accounts of networked (or social) digital labor. Like Fish and Srinivasan (>?00), we have interviewed numerous creators in an e2ort “to provide a view on digital labor that is grounded less in speculation but in nar- ratives from the producers of the platforms and content of the digital economy” (Fish and Srinivasan >?00, 0G).

Of the more than 0/? interviews conducted for this book, nearly a third were with creators. Be1tting the main focus of the book, most were in the United States, but they also included creators in England, Germany, India, China, and Australia. 5ese creators included those who have worked on a number of the main platforms; those who have

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worked across many platforms; those who specialize in the main mo- dalities (video, photo, text); and those who specialize in diverse formats and content verticals— beauty in3uencers, science geeks, toy unboxers, sketch comedians, or personality vloggers. Our primary focus was lo- cating diverse creators who manage a YouTube channel, although every creator we interviewed was operating across multiple platforms. How- ever, as discussed in chapter 0, as a competitive landscape of second- generation platforms emerged, like Instagram and Twitter, so too have enterprising creators. In the case of the demise of Vine, Vine- based creators like Zach King have since launched channels on YouTube and other platforms. As discussed in chapter ., outside the United States, creators were drawn to the technological a2ordances and accessibility of Facebook and Twitter that did not require video editing so4ware limited primarily to desktop computers. Whereas chapter G focuses on creators at the top of their respective online formats— those who have received the greatest notoriety, success, and presumptive sustainability— in this chapter, our focus includes a mix of low- , mid- , and high- range cre- ators. We include views ranging from those of relatively new entrants struggling to create a sustainable business to those of some of the most successful creators and thought leaders who have helped de1ne the emerging practices of creator labor.

With the massive scale of online content, our sample is by no means o2ered as representative. 5ere are billions of users on YouTube alone, accumulating millions of subscribers and billions of views, and SME is one small part of that universe. Privilege and success notwithstand- ing, we would consider all creators to be aspirational and perpetually precarious. As we saw in chapter 0, a platform like Vine— with three hundred million users— can disappear overnight. Similarly, Instagram creators feature centrally in SME because image- based content fosters optimal a2ordances for brand- safe in3uencer marketing— and photos are simpler and cheaper to upload than video. In chapter D, we de- scribe the ephemeral history of SME intermediaries who have secured millions in investment and acquisition only to vanish in less than a decade. Here, and in chapter G, we canvas creator failure, as Brooke Erin Du2y does more extensively in (Not) Getting Paid to Do What You Love (Du2y >?0B). But we seek to maintain a dynamic balance,

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with accounts arising from grounded engagement with creator sus- tainability, empowerment, agency, and opportunity.

Once Were Amateurs

5ere is a recurring career trajectory. Unlike mainstream screen industry professionals, creators with sustainable careers— they measure success not only in terms of monetization but also in growing audiences and subscribers, building extensive video catalogues, securing brand deals or leveraging further opportunities o2- platform— mostly started out as hobbyists and online a1cionados with little intention of developing any form of income, let alone a career. For most, the early experience was of a noncommercial, participatory culture (Jenkins 0FF>).

Depending on platform, many creators started out simply posting their status updates on Facebook and Twitter, or images on Instagram, or 1lming their hobby or passion and uploading to YouTube (as with YouTube’s very 1rst video, each now sees his or her 1rst work as a ter- rible early version of his or her cra4) “just for fun” or “to see what hap- pened.” 5ey were surprised to note audience growth and engagement and, inspired by this initial success, started to steadily increase their output. All tell the story of how, as their channels grew, their work- loads grew and— through trial and error— their production quality and professionalization improved, with incremental expansions to include better- quality cameras, microphones, and studio lighting, advanced ed- iting programs, more capable computers, in one instance some profes- sional training, and a work ethic that sees maintaining a community of engagement through various social media as an integral component of the “job.”

As Brent Weinstein, a prominent talent agent for SME creators at United Talent Agency remarked, “[T]he 1rst real YouTube stars were not talented artists, in most cases. 5ey were people who created a meme, or did something silly, and became popular as a result and they became the digital media equivalent of what one- hit- wonders in music are” (Wein- stein >?0/). Midlevel beauty vlogger Tati Westbrook mentioned,

I started as a performer but I didn’t even know how to plug in the cam- era. I didn’t know editing. At 1rst, when I sat down to edit, it would be

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a twelve- hour process. I didn’t know where to make the cuts or how to move things. Beauty tutorials still take a long time but I’ve been able to get this down to three hours. (Westbrook >?0/)

Not all creators began as outright amateurs. For Phillip Wang of Wong Foo Productions, YouTube became an option because pursuing a career in formal entertainment was not an option for cultural reasons. First- generation Asian migrants would not regard entertainment as a viable career path: “[I]t’s not safe and our parents don’t encourage it, because they want something secure for us” (Wang >?0/). Some were trained media talent who honed their cra4 on these platforms until their online practice morphed into revenue- generating businesses. The no- to- low barriers to entry facilitated a level of diversity suppressed in main media. (We pursue this in much greater detail in chapter /.) For Chrissy Chambers of Bria and Chrissy,

We were both just so burnt out on the traditional route, and I was so tired of going to auditions and hearing people say, “Well, you look too Hispanic” or, “Your nose is too big.” Whatever it was, I was really tired of having to depend on other people to give me opportunities for a creative outlet or talent. YouTube started as a way for us to pursue our entertain- ment goals. (Kam and Chambers >?0/)

Indian American and LGBTQ creator Krishna the Kumar studied acting at UCLA before discovering how to produce his own videos on YouTube. His videos were initially designed as contributions to his “acting reel” but, a4er discovering viral success, he began to monetize his channel, featuring “high quality sketch comedy based on relatable humor.” Although a low- level performer with a little over 14y- two thou- sand subscribers on YouTube, according to our interview, he pays his rent from his proceeds from YouTube while securing other part- time jobs. While he remains interested in traditional acting, and worries that he may be described as a “YouTuber,” he no longer goes out on cast- ing calls. Instead of a traditional media agent, he has a manager at Big Frame, a social media 1rm dedicated to creator representation.

Similar to Krishna, Matt Palazzolo, creator of the scripted online sit- com Bloomers, also studied 1lmmaking at UCLA. He created the series

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with acting friends in pursuit of traditional media roles, until the se- ries “developed an audience” and commercialization across multiple platforms (Kumar >?0/). Similarly, Brent Rivera, a prominent second- generation creator, began using Vine, and later Instagram and Snapchat, in his early teens out of an interest in performing. “It was not about being a big celebrity. I like acting. I did auditions in seventh grade for commercials and TV shows, and I always liked performing in front of the camera, but I didn’t enjoy being in the producer’s hands. I wanted to make my own content” (Rivera >?0/).

But, as a general rule, creators were not trained or experienced in their cra4. Indian stand- up comedians Aditi Mittal and Atul Khatri from East India Comedy had no background in their cra4. 5e former was an out- of- work advertising executive (Mittal >?0.) and the latter, a computer engineer running his own successful business (Khatri >?0.), until they discovered how to use SME platforms to develop their own comedy brand, promote their appearances, and eventually generate rev- enue. In the case of Khatri, his hobbyism began pre– Web >.? in a series of e- mails 1lled with jokes circulated among his family, friends, and fans.

Other creators became successful sideways. Indiana “Indy” Neidell was hired to host !e Great War, a one- of- a- kind interactive YouTube series produced in Berlin about World War I, told in real time one hun- dred years on. He landed the job and became centrally involved in the interactive design and production of the series a4er he was discovered on his own YouTube channel, WatchSundayBaseball, a channel dedi- cated to the “weirdness and coolness of 0/? years of professional baseball history” (Neidell >?0.). (!e Great War is pro1led in chapter ..)

Adolescence marks the entry point for the typical creator we inter- viewed. 5is remarkably youthful demographic pro1le mitigates the fear of failure and almost demands risk taking and experimentation, but also leaves many unprepared for success. Regarding SME 0.? cre- ators, Big Frame manager Byron Austin Ashley notes, “[M]any of them never worked elsewhere and never went to college” (Ashley >?0/). Ash- ley’s comment is not about privilege but about age, since most of them started when they were still living at home and in school. Early success o4en meant they never had to pursue work or attend college. Beauty vlogger Ingrid Nilsen, who incubated her YouTube career in the bath-

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room of her Berkeley university dorm, mentioned, “Had I gone the tra- ditional F- to- / route, I would have sat there with regrets. By then, I was already making more money than I would at an entry- level job” (Nilsen >?0/). Contrast Nilsen’s account with the average aspirant in Hollywood, an industry notorious for requiring years of underpaid dues paying and apprenticeship in toxic and demanding positions.

Big Frame’s Ashley continues by noting that sudden fame can over- whelm young creators. “A lot of them turn to religion because they can’t explain what happened and why they can no longer go out in public” (Ashley >?0/). Although Ashley did not specify, he might have refer- enced Kevin Wu, aka KevJumba, one of the earliest and most successful Asian American creators who disappeared suddenly from YouTube in >?0D with over three million subscribers and two hundred million views on YouTube. He has since returned in early >?0B with videos promoting his faith in Buddhism and describing his recovery from a car accident, and an original satirical rap music video called “Internet Power” that criticizes social media celebrity. We also pro1le Michelle Phan’s career, which bears similarities to Wu’s, in chapter G.

Training and the Division of Labor

Very few creators have had formal education or training in video pro- duction. Older creators, if they hold formal quali1cations, tend to have had IT or business backgrounds. Creator skills are o4en learned in situ and through experimentation. But the communicative a2ordances of social media have also introduced a set of more communal, supportive, mentoring, and collaborative labor practices. These practices sug- gest distinctively new forms of power relations within creator labor in contrast to the notoriously competitive conditions of Hollywood that require years of apprenticeships, dues paying, and networking before receiving tenuous acceptance into the “club.”

Creators frequently mentioned the support garnered from their men- tors, usually more experienced creators. 5is “pay it forward” mentality extends to recent creators, many of whom were initially the most en- gaged members of the 1rst- gen creators’ fan communities. Boone Langs- ton, a low- level toy unboxing creator, said,

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I do 1nd value in talking about the workings of YouTube to explain how it works to seek and give advice.A .A .A . It might have been Shay Carl [a prominent YouTuber and cofounder of Maker Studios] who said, “I came through a really big doorA .A .A . I’m going to bring as many people with meA .A .A . to 1nd success with me.” 5at would be why a group like that worksA.A.A. because everyone on there believes they have as much a shot at a million views as the next person. (Langston >?0.)

The mentoring relationship between high- achieving creators and emerging creators can o4en lead to on- screen collaborations. Beauty vlogger Westbrook described how these practices are very welcome but not without risk: “YouTubers are going to gravitate to one another. You go to events, you meet people, you say, ‘Let’s collaborate.’ If you love the same things, then it makes sense. I did one forced collaboration once and it was horrible. My audience hated it, her audience hated it. Today, I only collaborate with friends” (Westbrook >?0/).

In the course of the brief history of this industry, various organiza- tions have integrated creator pedagogy as part of their service o2er- ing. As we will see in chapter D, SME intermediaries like multichannel networks o2ered tutorials early in SME 0.?. 5ese low- touch and pro- grammatic resources were designed to assist their signed creators with developing their brands, channels, content, and communities and boost- ing their commercial return, from which these 1rms also bene1ted. In the SME >.? phase, platforms have begun to o2er their own versions, harnessing deeper capital and resources, designed to encourage greater platform loyalty while undercutting the value o2ered by these inter- mediaries. YouTube, for example, has put in place a global network of “Spaces,” o4en in partnership with formal media training schools, along with an extensive online training regime called the Creator Academy (also discussed in chapter D).

Some aspects of creator training, particularly in the better- resourced YouTube Spaces, would look familiar to 1lm schools: industry standard cameras, green screen technology, and attention to scriptwriting, perfor- mance, and editing. But what di2erentiates this training is the way it is wrapped completely in an entrepreneurial ethos and platform and com- munity management— Spreadability 0?0. Video courses o2ered in the

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Creator Academy, with titles like “Build Your YouTube Community— Featuring Kalista Elaine” (>?0B) and “How Collaboration Can Help Your YouTube Channel Grow (4. LaToya Forever & King of Random)” (>?0B) are typical.

Media production was neither a skill these creators had mastered nor one they spent large sums of money to learn. Compared to traditional media talent, many of whom honed their cra4 in school or local theater, these amateurs were o4en self- taught, sometimes using the tutorials they watched on YouTube delivered by other creators. Joey Grace2a, who had been rejected by 1lm schools, started o2 making short 1lms and sketch comedy before he joined YouTube with little concern for an audience. He “would make these random, stupid videos for myself ” (Grace2a

Figure >.>. YouTube Space (Los Angeles). YouTube Spaces offer resources and training to foster platform and community management. Photo by David Craig.

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>?0/). In our interview with Bria and Chrissy, a midlevel lesbian creator couple who have featured their sexual orientation, relationship, music, and activism in their content, Bria Kam admitted,

I’d never been behind the camera, really.A.A.A. And neither of us had any knowledge about the industry, like how to make a video. We didn’t even know people who were YouTubers! We had a Flip camera. Our 1rst cou- ple of videos were on a Flip camera. And it’s grainy, and horrible, and the audio is just ridiculous. (Kam and Chambers >?0/)

As we discovered with numerous creators, Bria and Chrissy devel- oped their self- taught production skills and, until recently, did all the work themselves. 5e lack of formalized education may prove fortuitous as creators may be less inhibited in developing their own production practices not taught, and possibly discouraged, in traditional media pro- grams. As Big Frame’s Ashley described, they have to “get their hands dirty,” including collaborating with other creators and continuously test- ing their production values until these practices become more “ turnkey.” 5e downside of cultivating SME production values is that the core Hollywood skills of acting, screenwriting, or directing remain underde- veloped if they were to attempt the transition to main media.

5e means of creation and production a2ord not only low- budget production but virtually no division of labor except at the top tiers of the SME. 5e creator has replaced the writer, producer, director, and actor above the line, as well as the editor, location scout, composer, and visual e2ects supervisor and other cra4 laborers below the line. As Gigi Gorgeous commented, “I’m in front of the camera— makeup, hair, glam. I de1nitely love the producing aspect, I love directing” (Gorgeous >?0/).

Even as producing skills become more sophisticated, and a division of labor is embedded, the challenge is to keep from emulating traditional media content. (We argue in chapter G that this is one of the hallmarks driving claims to authenticity in SME.) According to Barry Blumberg, manager for Smosh,

[W]hen you’re on YouTube and you watch a Smosh video, especially a Smosh video from six or seven years ago, we hired actors. We wrote scripts. We had full- scale productions. But we didn’t want it to look like

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a television show or movie. We wanted it to look just slightly out of reach from what the audience does.A.A.A. And when I watch a guy play video games on YouTube for hours on end.A.A.A. [I’m] not watching the profes- sional gamer who’s so great and never fails. [I’m] watching the guy who’s kind of a little better than [I am].A.A.A. 5ere’s a relationship. (Blumberg >?0/)

Nonetheless, invisible forms of labor operate in both traditional media and creator labor. 5e former is re3ected in the work of network and studio creative executives who have been denied producing credit on their projects while sharing many of the same creative and producing responsibilities as creative producers. 5e latter is re3ected in the lack of credits on most creator videos that acknowledge little other production assistance.

Early creators, particularly those producing scripted fare, were quick to launch and pivot towards more traditional production companies, al- beit with mixed results. Freddie Wong created the successful Videogame High School series that appealed to large gamer audiences that helped Wong secure YouTube subsidization, project- based crowd funding, and Lionsgate investment. Wong subsequently launched Rocketjump.com— “a weird hybrid/studio production company”— but with great caution. Wong warns, “Hollywood production is too expensive, you can’t spend as much on content. At Rocketjump, we run a lean operation and look at the world as platform agnostic” (Wong >?0/).

Similarly, along with Felicia Day, Kim Evey was part of the successful team that created !e Guild, another gamer- oriented scripted web series that was bought by Xbox. Evey and Day launched their own production company, Geek and Sundry; however, Evey soon le4 the company to re- turn to her own producing and performing roots. “I didn’t want to be an executive behind a desk. I wanted to be in the mix, actively participating in all aspects of production” (Evey >?0/).

As the far- less- traditional, non- IP or format- oriented vlogger creators have emerged successfully in SME, they have hired production teams and signed up for representation. In numerous interviews, creators not only mentioned their assistants, editors, managers, publicists, and agents but brought them to interview as their “partners.” 5is included family members. In the case of beauty vlogger Tati Westbrook, her husband

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is a partner- producer. For prominent Viner Brent Rivera, who has run his business while living at home and attending high school, his father screened our phone call approaching him for an interview as well as our followup call. However, for these vloggers, the discourses of authenticity and direct appeals to community, as featured in chapter G, limit growth. As Wong (>?0/) pointed out, “For YouTube stars, Vine personalities, and Tencent celebrities, the value is in personality and taking a community- oriented approach and, with more platforms, more personalities are 1nding success. However, scale is diHcult with that kind of video.” In the quest for sustainability, creators may represent the apotheosis of start- up precarity and further indicate the need for strategic media management, as discussed in chapter D. As creator publicist Tess Finkle warns, “If they are cute now, they should bank the money, buy real estate, get the right team to manage their career” (Finkle >?0/).

At the top level, large enterprises like Hank and John Green’s Vlog- brothers represent what Blumberg, Smosh’s manager, refers to as the “biggest economic stars to come out of YouTube” (Blumberg >?0/). 5e complexity of production depends on format and distribution platform, according to Hank Green (the Greens are pro1led in chapter G):

We have around thirty people working for us, mostly producing SciShow, Crash Course, and our other shows. Vlogbrothers is still just me and John. 5ese people are grouped into teams that occasionally branch o2 and help each other or help start new shows when someone has a good idea. We also have an events team that works on VidCon and our new event, NerdCon: Stories. And we have our merchandise company, DFTBA Records, which has three on- sta2 people but scales to have as many as 14een people working during the holiday season. (Green >?0/a)

Production assistance also varies depending on the content and format but also extends to assistance throughout all dimensions of production labor. According to Grace2a, his creator team is “pretty big,” including up to 1ve members of his producing team, coupled with a business man- ager, a lawyer, an assistant, and an editor. Scripted fare requires greater collaboration whereas “vlogging and social media are both more inde- pendent” (Grace2a >?0/). Grace2a’s comment goes to the more complex

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nature of scripted production, which demands much more up- front cap- ital and several stages of script development, talent packaging involving actors and directors, more diverse cra4 skills, and post- production. In contrast, for less complex content like vlogging, creator labor can require little more than a camera, light kit, audio, and editing skills.

Working Conditions

5e vast majority of creators, however, run their YouTube channels in a full- time sole- trader capacity (or with intimate partners or other family members). Most spend between 14y and sixty hours a week on their channel or channels. Production times for each video will vary depend- ing on set arrangements, and the degree of simplicity or complication involved (especially in cooking and makeup videos) but on average a creator might spend between three and seven hours 1lming a video. Editing is generally more time consuming, and takes between 1ve and eight hours per video. Depending on the channel, a number of hours are spent researching and trialing new ideas before 1lming, shopping for necessary associated products and/or ingredients, and managing the business side.

5ese conditions can be as onerous as they are precarious. As Du2y’s (>?0B) research shows, aspirational creator labor is o4en disappointed. Yet, in all our encounters with creators, even as working conditions may be worsening, none were looking for an exit strategy and all emphasized the creative rewards of their careers:

I work constantly, whether it is 1lming, editing, e- mails or social media. It is a lot of work and I spend the majority of my time dedicated to it. Sometimes I don’t feel like I’m actually working when I’m working, and that makes it diHcult to keep track of how much work I am putting in. I love it so much that I don’t even have a regular schedule. I just want to be able to access it whenever I feel inspired. (Maroun >?0/)

For other creators, the demands of creator labor are carefully weighed against other lines of work. Brian is the father of Gabe and Garrett, the stars of their own toy unboxing channel. (To ensure privacy, the family’s last name was withheld in our interview and throughout all publicity

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for the channel.) Brian described how his family videos stored on You- Tube turned into “passive residual income.” He could pursue his dream of running a family business from home, albeit not without recrimina- tions that signal another set of concerns regarding working conditions for underage creators.

A lot of people will just say, “You are using your kids just to make money.” 5ey don’t get it. Would it be better for me to work forty, 14y, sixty hours a week away from them to make money? Or we could work together as a family on something that just happens to be an income source and we get to spend all this time together having fun? (Gabe and Garrett channelA>?0.)

5ese work conditions operate in stark contrast to those of traditional media and other industries. For some, the opportunity to work from home and spend more time with their families while still managing to sustain an income is a dream come true. Jason Pinder, who runs the Simple Cooking Channel, was very happy to give up a counseling job and yet be able to support a growing family, be at home more, and pursue a passion without needing to become a celebrity (Pinder >?0/). However, there is, for some, a sense of culture shock as they move into a career that sees them work constantly, within a massive online com- munity, but also essentially alone. According to beauty and fashion and lifestyle creator Rachel Anderson, “[O]ur phone numbers are the only personal connection we have to the people that are part of our real lives” (Anderson >?0/). Similarly, beauty and lifestyle creator Wendy Huang remarks that her work “gets very lonely, you don’t know who to talk to and no one really understands what it is you’re doing. All your other friends have regular jobs and regular lives” (Huang >?0/). For some creators hoping to take time o2, managing a break from the routine means developing an inventory. For Jason Pinder of the SimpleCookingChannel,

I have eight or nine things up my sleeve at any given time so that I canAhave some time o2 if I am unable to work or have a holiday. WhenAwe were expecting a new baby I knew I was going to take a month o2, but I had a library of about forty videos ready to upload. (Pinder >?0/)

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Community Engagement as Relational Labor

5e SME business is a radical hybrid of production and community development and maintenance. 5ese are diverse, constantly iterative practices that vary from creator to creator and are dependent upon the communicative a2ordances of the di2erent platforms that are also con- stantly changing. A short list of these practices includes liking, sharing, posting and responding to comments, visiting the sites of other creators and members of the fan community to interact, featuring behind- the- scenes content on channels or platforms, and more. 5ese practices are vital to the success and sustainability of a creator’s brand. As noted by United Talent Agency (UTA) agent Brent Weinstein,

5e biggest thing is understanding the nature of community building and maintenance. In the past, actors, writers, directors, producers— they only had to focus on making something, and there were always these marketing guys who would handle the digital distribution, the awareness angle. Your digital stars today have to not only be really great content creators, they have to know how to build and maintain community. (Weinstein >?0/)

Across any single platform, creators spend an inordinate amount of time interacting with their community, managing comments, and ex- ploring new opportunities for fan engagement. For a mother, Simone Kelly, overseeing the careers of her children in Charli’s Cra4y Kitchen, managing comments on YouTube is a complicated and involved process of quarantining trolls amid the hundreds of daily comments, maintain- ing a professional look (“You do not want a brand looking at your chan- nel and seeing inappropriate comments or anything like that” [Kelly >?0/]) but also allowing the children to answer some questions.

5ese practices re3ect creators’ deep knowledge of the features and a2ordances of these platforms. Big Frame manager Ashley claims, “[I]t doesn’t require much e2ort to teach them on fan engagement. 5ey are ‘naturally gi4ed’ ” (Ashley >?0/). However, as found in multiple inter- views, like their production- oriented skills, these practices were devel- oped through years of trial and error and experimentation, including the communal pedagogy of the creator community.

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Community engagement may or may not be commercialized. You- Tube and, to a limited degree, Facebook are the only platforms that provide partnership agreements and programmatic advertising. Other platforms like YouTube Red, Twitch, and Vimeo o2er subscription fees. However, the lack of commercial features does not mean a lack of com- mercial a2ordances, and these practices may be communicative and commercial, particularly if featured as part of an in3uencer marketing campaign (to be explained in the next section).

Community maintenance may or may not be deemed content. In these practices, the lines between content and promotion is admittedly blurred, at some times more conspicuously than at others. For example, numer- ous creators have second YouTube channels or live- streaming channels that feature behind- the- scenes footage of their preparation for creating and producing content that will air later on their monetized platforms. Tweets and comments o4en encourage their community to tune in to their monetized content on YouTube channels. Instagram photos may tease audiences about upcoming video fare. In this regard, there is some continuity between traditional media content and promotion, particu- larly with the rise of social media marketing for 1lm and television.

5e fact that responding to fan feedback is largely nonscalable and can occupy easily /?C of working life applies no matter how high one climbs in the SME universe. Joey Grace2a agreed that he spends prob- ably an equal amount of time vlogging and responding to comments. “For the 1rst hour that I post a video. 5en I’m replying to probably one hundred to two hundred comments [on YouTube]. And then a4er that, I’ll go to Twitter and respond on Twitter. It’s a lot of work to do that on a daily basis” (Grace2a >?0/).

As the number of platforms grows and technological features change, so do the array of community management practices. Over time, creators develop more formalized production and programming management strategies, including a schedule for regularly uploading content. Whereas in traditional media, the production company may have little say over when the 1lm or television series premieres, scheduling falls within the purview of the creator’s practice. With the help of her assistant, beauty vlogger Nilsen generates a production report featuring a design, prepro- duction, production, editing, and uploading schedule. In her case, as a brand ambassador for multiple beauty products, her content must inte-

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grate the product and coordinate with the brand’s schedules, creating a complicated array of concerns for programming management.

5ese practices create a set of expectations for their fan community and advertising partners but also are diHcult for creators to manage around the clock. German game player and prominent SME thought leader Fabien Siegismund described the challenges he faces with managing community expectations, which can sometimes turn about in unexpected ways.

5e last couple of weeks I have pretty much ignored YouTube as I had so many di2erent jobs and no time to do that. But my community knows that and I have trained themA.A.A. told them: “Guys, this is a hobby. If for two weeks there’s no videos, don’t unsubscribe. Don’t hate. It’s just the channel.” I can’t change it, and they are 1ne with that. Actually, if I do a lot of videos people will say “Slow down, think about your family and give yourself a break.” (Siegismund >?0.)

Siegismund’s comment re3ects the deeply relational nature of the creator- community bond that makes the a2ective labor of creators more demanding and more foundational to their identity and business than with traditional media celebrity and fandom.

As Baym (>?0/) proposed, relational labor blurs the line between the social and the economic, extending beyond pure self- promotion and demanding that artists “connect with their audiences.” 5e relation- ship between creators and their communities is even more intimate and dialogical. As publicist Leila Marsh described, “5e talent doesn’t refer to it as an audience; instead, [the audience is] community, they’re fans, they’re viewers, they’re friends” (Marsh >?0/). 5e interactive and com- municative practices of community management feature unique appeals to community and authenticity, as described in chapter G. 5ese prac- tices also create a kind of virtual production loop in which the com- munity’s interests and feedback inform the design and production of creators’ content.

SME >.? and Multiplatform Practice

In March >?0B, Snap, the parent company for Snapchat, went public and, on its 1rst day, was valued at IDG billion, which was three times higher

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than Twitter, which was twice as old. 5is valuation was driven by the platform’s rapid growth, particularly among young users worldwide, driven in part by the way SME creators have used this platform. None- theless, as reported in Buzzfeed, prominent Snapchat in3uencers earning as much as eighty thousand dollars per brand campaign felt neglected by the platform and abandoned it for Facebook- owned Instagram. Accord- ing to a social in3uencer manager, “Where it [Snapchat] used to be the primary platform they were making content for, now it’s like a secondary platform where they’ll make content for other platforms and repost it on Snapchat” (Kantrowitz >?0B).

One of the hallmark features that distinguishes the 1rst and second phases of SME is that spreadability has gone into overdrive; production and uploading take place across multiple platforms. 5e multichannel and multiplatform practices of creator labor contribute to complex and exhausting labor conditions but also inform risk- management strate- gies to avoid platform precarity. 5ese practices include the design, production, and circulation of several formats, depending on the a2or- dances of the platform. 5e same video content is not simply posted across platforms, since content players vary in length, as do reception practices between laptop platforms and mobile applications. Creator Zach King started his career making YouTube videos but migrated to Vine, which allowed him to develop his “digital magic” format. King says, “5at’s what I love about di2erent platforms. 5ey give you di2er- ent rules and boundaries” (King >?0/). Like most creators, King does not rely solely on one platform, even if that platform provides speci1c a2ordances to generate his content, especially when platforms continue to experience precarity. King subsequently added Snapchat as a platform for his content, only to determine that the platform did not a2ord him the opportunity to be as creative as Vine did. With the demise of Vine, King migrated over to Instagram, where he has eighteen million follow- ers, as well as to Twitter and Facebook.

Similarly, Covergirl glambassador and LGBTQ activist Ingrid Nilsen describes a set of platform practices that re3ect strategic design:

Facebook is just to announce a video. Instagram and Snapchat are my sacred platforms where brands do not enter, unless there’s some kind of grandfathered deal like Covergirl. 5ere are no brands on my second

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channel, 5eGridMonster, which consists of me talking about more per- sonal topics. 5e Ingrid Channel is for DIY and lifestyles, which is where I can’t fully have a conversation, but it will spark a conversation that I’ll post on Gridmonster, which serves as an extra outlet for me. I have a pri- vate Tumblr account that allows me to see what others are posting, and then I’ll discuss them in my videos. I like to be the observer on Tumblr. (Nilsen >?0/)

Nilsen’s strategic multiplatform practice was o4en evidenced in our interviews with creators and recalls well the circulation practices Jenkins and colleagues describe in Spreadable Media (Jenkins, Ford, and Green >?0D).

For some creators, platforms include not only social media but 1lm and television, for which distinctions are drawn with regard to the de- sign, production, and circulation of content. 5ese represent multiple challenges as well as opportunities for these creators. Premier creators Rhett McLaughlin and Lincoln Neal (Rhett & Link) own multiple chan- nels on YouTube that feature several formats, but they have also oper- ated cross- industry, starting with earlier work on the IFC channel and forthcoming scripted work for web and television.

5e vast majority of content is on Good Mythical Morning [GMM] and Good Mythical More. On and o2 we also have weekend series; right now we’re doing an animated series based on a live series where we did song biscuits. GMM is the beast that is constantly being fed; when we do re- lease on GMM, that’s our core audience who needs to know about it and take action on it. What started as a side project to make a connection with our fans back in >?00 when we were doing our scripted IFC series started as an experiment that quickly turned into something that people wanted. We have no interest in turning o2 GMM, but we are continu- ously interested in doing other things. Break it down, half our time on GMM, half on other projects.A.A.A. [W]e really want to get into comedic narrative scripted content, whether web series, features. (McLaughlin and Neal >?0/)

Across a single platform, creators o4en feature several playlists, for- mats, and verticals and operate multiple channels. 5e Greens have cre-

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ated many formats on their Vlogbrothers channel, where they feature mostly vlog posts discussing contemporary topics and events. 5ey also have other YouTube channels like Crash Course, on which colleague creators discuss educational topics. In addition to their own personal channels, Ian Hecox and Anthony Padilla of Smosh have another nine channels, including two comedy channels, a channel for cartoons, gameplay, French- and Spanish- language channels, and more. Similarly, Grace2a has his main vlog channel but also a gameplay channel.

5ese practices serve several purposes that belie the normative con- ventions of “typecasting” experienced in traditional media. 5ey allow creators to experiment with more or less potentially monetizable forms of content. But these channels also allow the creator to explore other forms of expression. As we have seen, beauty vlogger Nilsen has her main You- Tube channel for makeup and lifestyle tutorials but also a separate chan- nel under a di2erent name (5eGridMonster). 5is second channel is o4en voluntarily demonetized and o4en features political topics, such as her interview of President Obama. Musician and vlogger Louna Ma- roun manages three independent channels that focus on musicianship, makeup tutorials, and vlogging, and views the work involved in man- aging three channels as comparable to that of managing one, while her

Figure >.D. Rhett & Link, YouTubers who work successfully across both SME and traditional media industries. Rhett & Link, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v =TO@gAvl/FKw.

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additional channels allow her to focus on di2erent aspects of her online personae.

5e increasing competition in the creator community, especially with the more prominent and distinctive content verticals on platforms, places added pressures and precarity on creator labor.

If you’re a gaming YouTuber, you’re competing for a share of voice with every other single gaming YouTuber. And the more popular the game, the more people you compete with. 5ere are a lot of people who have made it big on YouTube in gaming, and the majority of them are Minecra4ers. And those that have made it big are now very in3uential. So to start a YouTube channel on Minecra4 now is really hard, unless you have some- thing ridiculously di2erent or new to show. (Kouvchinov >?0/)

Competition does not only come from other YouTubers, with a growing range of creators gaining signi1cant followers on platforms like Instagram and Periscope that, while they may not o2er creators Ad- Sense revenue, have gained the attention of brands seeking to reach tar- get audiences. And creators are increasingly competing with the brands themselves, who are able to signi1cantly outspend them in terms of pro- motion on social media. For example, one YouTuber interviewed uses Facebook to connect with her thirty- 1ve thousand followers in hopes of driving them to her YouTube channel. On viewing her analytics she found that only twenty- two hundred of her followers had seen her post, with only 0/G actively responding. She then used Facebook’s “Boost Post” paid promotion feature, paying around two thousand dollars for her post to appear prominently on eighty- one thousand (fan base plus “friends of friends”) people’s pages. (5is carries no guarantee against AdBlocking so4ware.) But, she argues, she is competing with brand pro- ducers who regularly spend upwards of 14y thousand dollars on a single Facebook status post on a promotion that may run for more than a week (Grimstone >?0/).

Working within Algorithmic Culture

We noted earlier in the chapter the doubts raised by critical theorists about the presence of progressive or alternative voices in social media

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because of its pervasive algorithmic culture. 5ere is no question that the power that the platform holds is asymmetrical. An elaborated early instance is the plangent account of “what it’s like being sacked by a Google algorithm” (Winter >?00). 5is is the story of Dylan Winter, an English freelance journalist and 1lmmaker, and it reveals rare details of the 1nancial interactions with Google of the then ninety- seventh big- gest “reporter” on YouTube globally and seventh in the UK. Despite being a very successful contributor to YouTube and a valuable gen- erator of attention to the ads placed next to his content by AdSense, Google’s advertising placement company, he infringed a contract that was “designed so that it was almost impossible not to break the Google rules” (Winter >?00).

What algorithmic culture usually means for creators, however, is just more work resulting from having to manage the relationship between the quantitative feedback generated by the data analytics stream from Google’s AdSense and many multichannel networks’ suites of business analytics, and the qualitative feedback o2ered freely by the fan base. For many creators, the extra work is o4en not justi1ed by the enhancements o2ered by the data feed.

Given the critical role of high- touch community management, cre- ators cannot rely on data analytics alone for either management of their channels or adequate revenue derived from programmatic advertising. Single- platform analytics (such as the standard dashboard available to YouTube partners) are not suHcient and o4en induce information overload without real analytical insight. Managing community interac- tion cross- platform— vital for maintaining authenticity and maximizing promotion— signi1cantly extends creators’ workload. Unlimited word counts on Facebook o4en mean trying to limit the workload by attempt- ing to direct engagement to Twitter, for example.

5e network a2ordances of platforms facilitate a highly iterative de- sign and development process by creators, supercharged by algorithmic feedback. For some creators, like Kumar, the demands of algorithmic culture are like a virtual gilded cage. He laments that he has become about the “numbers” and “analytics”— a practice that generates resent- ment and con3ict with the demands of authenticity (which we analyze in chapter G). “I don’t want to be tailoring my creative to reach my num- bers. I want it to remain more organic” (Kumar >?0/). For others, like

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Australian creator Sarah Grimstone, algorithmic practice can be more diagnostic than prescriptive, which contributes to confusion over clarity.

It’s just information overload. When you get analytics that tell you your retention rate is D/C, or your clickable link rate is ./CA.A.A. what are the factors that play into that? I go away from analytics going, “I need to im- prove my retention rate,” but what does that mean for YouTube videos? Does that mean I talk about a di2erent topic? Does that mean I change the editing? Do I go shorter or do I go longer? What is it? Ultimately, it is just trial and error. (Grimstone >?0/)

5e communicative a2ordances of di2erent platforms also pose unique and precarious challenges for creators. Managing interaction across several social media accounts— vital for maintaining authenticity and maximizing promotion— signi1cantly extends their workload:

Facebook is one of the hardest mediums to respond to. I have about two hundred Facebook messages sitting unanswered because every time I look at it I get overwhelmed. But o4en if I don’t respond people get angry at me. 5e thing with Facebook, compared to Twitter, is because of the unlimited word count you get people that write really long essays about their life and you feel like you need to respond with a lengthy reply as well. You can’t reply to a follower spilling their heart with a quick one sen- tence. You want to sit down, read through it, re3ect, and respond. Times that by 14y to a hundred a day and it becomes an overwhelming task. Now I just ask people to tweet at me— 0G? characters, short and sharp, I can keep on top of that. (Huang >?0/)

As we have already said, the dispersal of SME reception around the world complicates life even as it can be highly remunerative for cre- ators. As we note in chapter ., it is estimated that @?C of YouTube traHc comes from outside the United States, and .?C of creators’ views come from outside their home country. Australian creators, for example, are at the very high end of this dispersal. Because English a2ords relative ease of international passage, about F?C of Australian- originated content is consumed outside the country. 5is has meant a disproportionately high per capita number of high- end (one million- plus subscribers) creators,

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but it also means that Australian creators work in a regime of 3ipped hemispheres, needing to embed their community management prac- tices into the rhythms of overwhelmingly northern hemisphere seasons, major holidays, language vernaculars, and product ranges.

SME Business Models

In October >?0., "# Minutes aired a segment called “5e In3uencers” featuring interviews with SME creators, including Kim Kardashian. When prompted, Kardashian acknowledged that social media was most responsible for her fame and success. 5e interviewer demurs, suggesting that she has no appreciable “talent,” in comparison to other in3uencers who can do comedy, sing, or dance. Nonetheless, the inter- viewer mentions, Kardashian has created an “empire worth in excess of I0?? million.” Kardashian responds, “I would think that involves some kind of talent” (Whitaker >?0.).

5us far in this chapter, we have explored the distinctive characteris- tics of SME production practices. We now turn to the business models on which the possibility of sustainable careers may be built.

But 1rst, given the fundamental nature of this distinction, it is worth outlining the IP ownership model in traditional media. IP rights owner- ship can be split among an o4en complicated, contested, and unwieldy array of stakeholders and participants. These can include financing, production, and distribution partners coupled with underlying literary, brand, or life rights holders. In addition, the collaborative nature of tradi- tional media production has resulted in complex formulas for providing residual payments to writers, producers, directors, and actors, who have earned their piece of the pie through guild- backed bargaining agreements.

Over the last few decades, Hollywood has been distinguished by its ability to extract maximum value in the age of vertically and horizontally integrated media conglomerates that pursue ownership and market share of media content and distribution. With some variation, Hollywood con- glomerates create entertainment intellectual properties (IP) from which diverse forms of commercialized transmedia content can be generated, including multiple 1lms, television, books, music, and more. For some 1rms, the value lies outside media, in merchandising and licensing. For example, while the 1lm and television sectors of Disney generate the

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highest revenue, more than B/C of Disney’s pro1t growth comes from its consumer products and parks and resorts. Disney 1lms, which generate only 0.C of corporate pro1ts, operate as IP incubators, half- billion- dollar advertisements for selling plush toys and theme parkArides.

5is SoCal IP- ownership model, which is designed to create scarcity through copyright to monetize by controlling and sequestering scarce and premium content, contrasts markedly with NoCal’s spreadability model. YouTube initially sought neither to 1nance, produce, license, nor purchase creator content. As described in chapter 0, steeped in Silicon Valley values of scalable technological innovation and driven by the safe- harbor protec- tions of the DMCA, SME platforms tried to bypass the messy and compli- cated IP ownership and control model. Even withAthe shared commercial practices of advertising, platforms have cut out the proverbial middleman by introducing fully automated programmatic advertising with the added advantage of social analytics capable of delivering more targeted view- ers to advertisers. An index of the strength of the spreadability model in creator culture was in evidence when the Fine Bros tried to trademark and license a popular video format in >?0.. 5ey are producers of one of the biggest reaction video formats and sought to trademark the term “react”— a term that is widely used by other creators. 5ey were called out by other creators, and at one point they were losing ten thousand followers an hour (Foxx >?0.). Strongly normative assumptions about spreadability in SME restrict core aspects of SoCal wealth creation.

As we have outlined in chapter 0, YouTube’s business proposition from >??B was based on partnership agreements and programmatic advertising and o2ered the 1rst array of commercialization prospects to previously amateur creators. Talent agent Weinstein captured this: “[T]hat 1rst gen- eration really introduced the power of YouTube to the world [SME 0.?], but it was the next generation [SME >.?] that 1gured out how to leverage YouTube into lasting brands and powerful careers” (Weinstein >?0/).

5e carrot- and- stick architecture of “partnerships” and revenue shar- ing generated by an algorithm under Google’s control was both the 1rst mover in commercializing online video content and the source of greatest precariousness. 5ere is a history of “tweaking” partnership agreements, the algorithm itself, as well as the rates of return through AdSense based on the traditional advertising metric of CPMs. (Cost per mille, where mille is French for thousand, o4en becomes clicks per mille in SME.)

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For the platform, the economics of scale have generated repeated gains in advertising revenue over time. For the creators, programmatic advertising has turned out to be a false promise or, as Hank Green refers to it, “a kinda shitty model” (Green >?0/a). 5e visibility of the creator is o4en in inverse relation to his or her viability. In Gaby Dunn’s heart- felt lament, “Get Rich or Die Vlogging: 5e Sad Economics of Internet Fame” (>?0/), she argues that “[m]any famous social media stars are too visible to have ‘real’ jobs, but too broke not to.” Chapter 0 shows that, as YouTube continues to scale globally and more advertising is driven over from traditional media, the platform has continued to witness revenue growth. On the back of creator labor, YouTube is now well placed to contribute to, rather than draw on, Google’s co2ers. But for individual creators, the CPMs that were promised at twenty- 1ve dollars with ini- tial partnerships have since collapsed to around two dollars or less, de- pending on the nature of the content. 5e massive growth in scale of SME content has destroyed value even as the CPM rate on YouTube has bottomed out. Except for top creators, the best AdSense can do is pro- vide some “bread and butter” (Pinder >?0/).

5e platform has sought to accommodate to the collapse of CPMs by packaging high- end and brand- safe creators into their Google Preferred advertising programs. While this policy bene1ts certain creators, this pattern also emulates the scarcity model of cable television advertising. (As cable networks reached full distribution and caps on potential sub- scription fees, they were forced to change programming to attract larger audiences and secure premium advertising.)

Meanwhile, YouTube partnership agreements have also changed over time. Although creators are subject to nondisclosure agreements, it is well known that some premium creators secure higher revenue par- ticipation from the platform. 5rough their Google Preferred plan, YouTube can secure higher CPM programmatic advertising rates by bundling “brand- friendly, premium creators” to advertisers. For low- level and emerging YouTubers, the path towards success grows more challenging over time as they encounter obstacles placed by the plat- forms themselves. Continuing to shi4 features, services, and require- ments for creators, in >?0B, YouTube established a 3oor of ten thousand views before ads will run and creators can earn money. 5is policy change was deemed an attempt to “weed out bad actors,” like nonlegiti-

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mate creators uploading other creators’ content, but it also reintroduced barriers of entry for newcomers (Popper >?0B).

YouTube’s technological innovations can have a cascading effect through its ecology, o4en a2ecting certain creators more than others. YouTube’s IP control so4ware Content ID has been e2ective in making the platform less cluttered with infringing content and therefore more welcoming to brands and advertisers. But it has also produced overkill for creators. 5e collapse of AdSense revenue has been doubly impacted by the Content ID algorithm sending all revenue from 3agged content back to the rights holder and leaving the creator on his or her own to appeal a decision that bespeaks little due process. An aspiring musi- cian covers a popular song in the hope that it will lead viewers to their own original content. However, in one case, over a period of twenty- eight days, one such creator received @0/,??? views, which equated to only thirteen dollars through AdSense. Her top 1ve videos— being cover versions of copyrighted material— earned zero dollars, with only her eighth- most- watched video, which gained thirteen thousand views, paying one dollar for ten thousand views (Grimstone >?0/).

YouTube’s Content ID system is not the only technology that makes algorithmic judgments on content while generating concerns for You- Tube creators. In >?0?, the platform introduced their Restricted Mode feature that allowed viewers, particularly parents and schools, to restrict certain forms of content. In early >?0B, LGBTQ creators discovered that their content was being censored and deemed “potentially objection- able” for those channels in restricted mode. 5is limits not only audience but also advertising for prominent creators, although YouTube rushed out a response claiming to correct this problem. 5is rapid response underlines the value of the LGBTQ community to YouTube, which is further discussed in chapter /.

Perhaps the greatest precarity faced by YouTube creators is the re- peated changes in algorithms. 5ese changes can sometimes generate a steep and sudden loss of viewers and revenue with little recourse by creators. Repeated e2orts to reverse engineer YouTube’s algorithm have proven fruitless, particularly since the algorithm was revealed to be con- trolled by “Deep Neural Networks” or, rather, arti1cial intelligence (Cov- ington, Adams, and Sargin >?0.). 5is advanced technology has created a black box in which the platform’s computers engage in “ distributed

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learning” to develop sophisticated recommendation systems that not even their engineers understand.

SME >.? Business Models

SME >.? ushers in a period of greater creator entrepreneurialism— in Weinstein’s words, this is when creators “1gured out how to leverage YouTube into lasting brands and powerful careers” (Weinstein >?0/). 5e rise of competing platforms with other a2ordances has contrib- uted to new forms of commercial prospects, although only Facebook and Twitch o2er revenue- sharing partnerships, o4en limited to their premium creators. In addition, advertisers have developed new prac- tices that exploit the intimate but nonetheless transactional relationship between creators and their communities. Creators have dealt with this rapidly changing landscape by engaging a wide range of business mod- els using but not limited to the IP exploitation strategies of traditional media. Weinstein speaks of this creator entrepreneurialism and innova- tion: “5e mentality of a digital creator is not about preparing for when opportunity knocks, they’re creating the opportunity themselves. Digital stars are more proactive and more aggressive about taking their careers into their own hands than any generation we’ve ever seen before in the video business” (Weinstein >?0/).

SME >.? business models start with revenue derivable from single platforms, including programmatic advertising, subscriptions, trans- actional downloads, and virtual goods. In addition, operating across multiple platforms is the basis for the more lucrative practices of in- 3uencer marketing and sponsorship. More recognizable IP ownership and licensing models include content and format packaging, sales and distribution across social and traditional media platforms in domestic and international markets, and licensing and marketing of products, brands, and services, especially through e- commerce sites that create higher return with limited risk. Fees and royalties can be earned in traditional media whether as a performer, writer, director, host, contes- tant, or reality star, or through book or music sales. Live performance fees, whether touring or paid appearances, are also very signi1cant, as are crowd funding and subscriptions through platforms like Kickstarter and Patreon.

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Necessity is the mother of invention: the constant disruption by YouTube’s NoCal pivots has long since demanded that creators pursue other revenue- generating opportunities, starting with other platforms, including YouTube- owned platforms. We have noted in chapter 0 that YouTube has launched sister platforms featuring other forms that vary the AVOD business model, including YouTube Red’s subscription plat- form, which Green regarded as “good for independent creators” (Green >?0/a). Other platforms like Vimeo and the short- lived Vessel have also o2ered subscription plans to premium content creators. Amazon’s Video Direct platform has made available to all creators its partnership plans, which feature multiple revenue models, including advertising, subscrip- tion, rental, or purchase with an advertiser split of ///G/ like YouTube.

Platforms have introduced other commercial features that are gen- erating revenue opportunities for creators. Twitch, a live broadcasting and gaming platform purchased by Amazon for I0 billion in >?0G, is closely aligned with the videogame industry, including Amazon- owned Blizzard entertainment, and has focused on the online game content sector. 5is sector includes “recorded gameplay, reviews, and anything that engages the gaming community” (Brouwer >?0/b). As a result, the gameAindustry helps fund Twitch creators through sponsorship and ad- vertising, which totaled nearly I0.. billion in >?0/. In addition, Twitch o2ers its creators revenue- generating features from subscriptions to do- nations via their Twitch Tip Jar feature that allows fans to send virtual goods to their favorite gamers. Twitch Tips generates far more revenue than what creators are earning either on YouTube Live or on Facebook Live (Le >?0.). 5e development of live- streaming may presage a new stage, SME D.?, which we contemplate in the conclusion.

Influencer Marketing

We regard the term “in3uencer” the same way that Jenkins, Ford, and Green regard the term “viral” (>?0D). It is a marketing term that con- notes a one- way relationship, precisely of in3uence on a relatively passive receiving audience. We use it— under advisement— as it has widespread legibility.

As we have seen, Instagram features prominently in the development of in3uencer marketing and a larger “in3uencer economy.” Instagram

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does not share advertising revenue with its creators like YouTube’s part- ner program; rather, its “partner program” refers to its B>B platform con- necting advertisers with in3uencer marketing 1rms and tech companies. However, the platform o2ers a form of passive or complicit partnership by creating the brand- safe a2ordances for in3uencer marketing. In the ongoing evolution of the platform, Instagram introduces features that facilitate in3uencers while also circumventing potential regulatory con- cerns. In mid- >?0B, the platform introduced a “paid partnership” feature that fosters greater transparency by the creators for their sponsored con- tent. According to the platform, this design was instigated by and for the creators. “We want to make a product that serves the creators, the brands and also the community,” said Charles Porch, creative program director at Instagram (Flynn >?0Bb). Like the addition of the Community but- ton on YouTube’s channels, Instagram appears to be catering better to its creators, who have become vital stakeholders in the platform’s success.

In3uencer marketing represents a major shi4 in advertising practices and has been a sustaining source of revenue for even midlevel creators— but can also be the fateful apple that sees them expelled from the Gar- den of Eden. (5is latter possibility is taken up in chapter G.) Gone in this ecology are the ad sales divisions of the television networks and the creative agencies and media buyers who cra4ed the thirty- second spots and bought the airtime. Creators can 1eld direct inquiries from advertis- ers extending in3uencer marketing deals at signi1cant CPMs. 5e closest analogy to traditional media commercialization would be product place- ment, celebrity endorsement, social media marketing, and word of mouth.

5e creator enters into a “creative partnership” with a brand. Some creators receive a 3at fee whereas others are paid CPMs. Recent accounts reveal that advertisers can pay up to IB/– 0?? CPMs for in3uencer mar- keting deals as compared to the I0– > CPMS for programmatic adver- tising. As with product placement, some creators feature the brand’s product in their video without mention, but include a link to the prod- uct website in the video description box. 5e creators are paid more revenue for every time their followers click on these links (“click- thru rates”), and even more if their community purchases the brand, product, or service (“conversion rates”).

Not all creators and their content are created equal when it comes to in3uencer marketing. More brand- friendly creators, such as DIY

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beauty and lifestyle vloggers, have bene1ted most from these new advertising instruments. And they exploit these opportunities with sophisticated agency. Nilsen is a “glambassador” for Covergirl, al- though she describes this partnership as providing a service to the brand, which aligns with her own. In fact, as she noted in our inter- view, “IAturn down brands all the time. I’m either not interested in the product or it doesn’t 1t with what I’m doing or I worked with them before and it didn’t work out” (Nilsen >?0/). Similarly, in our interview with Westbrook, aka GlamLife Guru, she con1ded that

[a]ll of the o2ers come to me. I don’t go to them. If it’s scripted, I pass. If they have an idea about what they want me to focus on, or if they have ideas about the story, that’s OK as long as it 1ts with my voice. But I turn down FF for each one I accept. It has to be the right 1t. If I lose trust with my audience, I lose everything. (Westbrook >?0/)

In3uencer marketing opportunities are not limited to only brand- friendly or high- level players. For advertisers, engagement matters as much as scale (the number of platforms, channels, subscribers, and views). In some accounts, niche creators are up to six or seven times more valuable to advertisers than top creators. According to CEO Kyla Brennan of in3uencer marketing 1rm HelloSociety, “Engagement goes down once you reach a certain threshold of followers, which is almost counterintuitive” (Brennan, quoted in Main >?0B). 5is is another sense in which the classic A list/B list celebrity phenomenon (Caves >???) in the traditional entertainment industry does not apply in SME.

Midlevel lesbian creator couple Bria and Chrissy acknowledged that “we already know that we’re putting something on our viewers by doing a branded integration, but they also already know that we have to make a living, and YouTube ad sales alone is just not going to do it” (Kam and Chambers >?0/). Creators’ reputation for authenticity is the core of their community management and commercial capacity; brand identi1cation and integration demand transparency. SME thought leaders Hank and John Green have avoided in3uencer marketing because of the dangers it carries. Chapter G is preoccupied with this fundamental tension in SME.

Other in3uencers have violated the implicit terms of their community relations and su2ered the consequences. Talent manager Ashley aHrmed

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that in3uencer marketing can “be a trapA.A.A. where creators feel exploited and their fans feel betrayed” (Ashley >?0/). Some creators have lost their entire business because they were either not transparent or their brand deals were misaligned. Ashley described a female YouTuber who had cre- ated a community invested in how she navigates her newfound freedom working near the beach while still struggling to make a living. When she posted an image of her new Mercedes on Instagram, her community 3ed. Ashley notes wryly, “At nineteen, a million dollars is great. It’s not great if it’s the last check you will ever cash” (Ashley >?0/).

Having said that, creative agency can come to the fore when it is lib- erated from platform interference or advertising middlemen. In their account of one in3uencer deal, Bria and Chrissy described making a skit (for NuMe) entitled “Get Ready with Us in the Morning”:

We had so much fun doing it, and people loved it. And then [we] got the points across at the end, and kind of made fun of the product a bit, but in a light way, because the product works. It was very smart on their part [to give us creative freedom] because a lot of companies, for so long, have wanted to have so much control, trying to treat it like traditional advertis- ing, which takes out the complete essence and beauty of why you’re doing a YouTube- invested brand integration. (Kam and Chambers >?0/)

Crowd Funding

Created by Hank and John Green, Patreon o2ers subscription revenue to creators that totaled over I0/? million in >?0B (Constine >?0Bb). Similar crowd- funding platforms like KickStarter and IndieGoGo have allowed creators to fund speci1c projects that may be more ambitious than their traditional fare, like scripted web series and 1lms. 5e list of other platforms continues to expand every year. A short list includes revenue transactional and streaming audio platforms (iTunes, Spotify, Soundcloud), as well as merchandising platforms like District Line. Interviewing Meredith Levine, SME researcher and self- proclaimed “fanthropologist,” we learned about the “economics of asking.” When it comes to crowd or fan funding, creators depend upon “people who love you who will pay what they can a2ord because you are asking them to. Sometimes that works” (Levine >?0/).

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Hollywood Calling?

As we have seen, Freddie Wong’s RocketJump was the result of early success in scripted web series in SME that a2orded him the chance to strategically pivot into Hollywood. However, the early track record for most of these early creators using SME as a back door to Hollywood has proven unsuccessful. Creator Grace Helbig had a short- lived talk show on E! Entertainment that was canceled a4er only a brief run. Saba Ham- edy from the LA Times regarded this as an “experiment,” and questioned whether “YouTube stardom equals ratings” (Hamedy >?0/). 5is comment bespeaks traditional media ignorance; creators are engaging in mutually exploitative commercial practices by appearing in traditional media. While E! continues to struggle to secure ratings and revenue, Helbig’s SME business was valued at over I/ million in >?0., according to Forbes. com. Meanwhile, she has continued to secure roles in feature 1lms and television series on YouTube Red as well as through traditional 1lm stu- dios, like Lionsgate. Similarly, LGBTQ vlogger Tyler Oakley has appeared in reality shows like !e Amazing Race, has hosted award shows either on stage or on the red carpet, and has launched his own web- based talk show on Ellen DeGeneres’s digital network (Spangler >?0.b). Less than a year later, that series has also been canceled (Burch >?0B).

For premier and even midlevel creators, Hollywood o4en proves neither an ambition nor a viable revenue stream. For those content cre- ators who might be earning six- or seven- 1gure sums from other rev- enue streams, traditional 1lm and television fees can be uncompetitive. Other content creators are less willing to give up the virtually absolute control they have over their own work. Meanwhile, the time required to write or perform in traditional media, including protracted peri- ods of development or simply waiting around on set for the lighting to change, can cost the creators valuable time better spent creating their own proprietary content and fostering further engagement with their fans. Vine star Brent Rivera mentioned numerous Hollywood o2ers that he rejected for the reasons cited here, even as he is still completing high school.

I was dealing with a television network for a long time last year for an up- coming TV show, and the character they wanted me to play was dramatic

Figure >.G. A New Literary Age? Photo by David Craig.

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and super nerdy. We’ve seen that character a lot. It’s so di2erent from my Vines and YouTube videos.A5ere have also been some radio opportuni- ties, so we discussed some stu2 like that. I’m just waiting for the right opportunity. I do like radio and can see myself having a radio show. But I want to make my own thing and then sell it o2. I don’t want to work under someone. (Rivera >?0/)

For creators located with little proximity to traditional media indus- tries, “going Hollywood” is neither viable, necessary, nor even desirable. Prominent game player Seth Bling harnesses his massive and lucrative online gamer community from his apartment in Seattle. Gabe and Gar- rett are the child stars of their own toy unboxing channel produced and distributed by their parents, Brian and Lori, out of their suburban home in San Bruno, California. According to the parents, the family has no interest in television or 1lms, although according to Brian, “an animated 1lm based on [Gabe and Garrett’s] series Sidewalk Cops may be in the works” (Gabe and Garrett channel >?0.).

A Literary Age?

Perhaps the most successful commercial practice by creators in tradi- tional media has been the remarkable success of creator books. Since >?0G, creators have secured numerous lucrative publishing deals. Beauty and lifestyle creators like Michele Phan have published books that trans- late their video tutorials into how- to and self- help non1ction. Other personality- driven creators have published bestselling memoirs, like Connor Franta and Grace2a, despite their extreme youth. Other creators have been able to convince their community to purchase their original 1ction, including the least likely of creators like beauty vloggers Zoe Sugg and Elle and Blair Fowler (Votta >?0/).

A Harbinger of SME D.?: YouTube’s Adpocalypse

5e question of a further phase in SME history beyond SME >.? is raised for consideration in our conclusion. YouTube’s Adpocalypse may play a central role in this “new regulatory era.” Here, we focus on the deep and ongoing impact it has had on creators.

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Despite the proliferation of SME >.? business models, YouTube con- tinues to o2er core value for most creators, particularly in markets where broadband and mobile access is a2ordable and accessible and video- level speeds viable. As platforms like Vine faltered, YouTube became home, and big names, like Zach King, quickly pivoted to long- form video fare. Even as other SME platforms have integrated video players, the global scale, commercial a2ordances, and centrality of creators to YouTube’s ongoing viability make it one of the most obvious platforms on which to launch careers. Yet, as we have seen, perhaps no greater threat to creator sustainability has been posed by YouTube itself than in a rolling series of crises coined “the Adpocalypse.”

In >?0B, investigating journalists revealed that multinational and national brand advertising was appearing programmatically alongside YouTube videos featuring terrorist organizations, antisemitic clips dis- cussing a “Jewish World Order,” and Swedish neo- Nazi groups (Mayes >?0B). 5e backlash from over >/? major advertisers, like Walmart, who pulled their advertising from the site was met swi4ly by a response from Google/YouTube vowing to crack down immediately on this 3agrant failure of programmatic advertising to maintain baseline community standards. YouTube introduced a set of 1lters to promote more “ad- friendly content.” Creators were charged with indicating whether their content 1t a list of categories that advertisers had the option to delete from their advertising inventory. If le4 unmarked, these videos would remain demonetized and undergo a human review process— a kind of purgatory— by anonymous censors hired by the platform. Even if the video was later cleared for monetization, most creators reported losing up of F?C of the revenue they might have earned under the 1lterless system.

YouTube’s 1ltering process revealed the limitations of the machine learning a2ordances of NoCal low- touch automation. John “totalbiscuit” Bain, a leading Youtuber, explained,

Right now, the problem is that the machine isn’t operating in a logical way. It’s demonetizing videos that don’t seem to have any logical reason behind the demonetization, and their communication with partners isAnext to zero. We don’t know what they want us to do, and if they want

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us to 1x things, they can’t expect us to just guess what exactly those things are. (Kain >?0B)

For example, one of the most successful video games, and in turn, game- play sources of revenue, is the popular Assassin’s Creed. Any content with the term “assassin,” however, was immediately demonetized.

Google/YouTube’s behavior in the Adpocalypse— very well disposed towards leading brands and well intentioned in response to community standards— risks violating the core value proposition of YouTube as an open access content and social media platform protected by safe har- bor laws. Le4 with a Solomon’s choice between creators and advertis- ers, some predict the Adpocalypse is here to stay (Snell >?0B), although it hardly impacts some creators in more brand- safe and child- friendly verticals.

Beyond the commercial implications, YouTube’s overreaction ap- peared to contradict its longstanding support of certain marginalized and alternative creators and communities. As we note in chapter /, these automated 1lters cut deep into the return on investment of creators producing culturally progressive content. For LGBTQ creators, any rep- resentation of their identity could be deemed sexually suggestive and ad- unsafe (Weiss >?0B). For communities supporting these creators, typically poorly represented throughout legacy media, these conditions appeared to perpetuate deeper underlying social discrimination by the very platform that had given them voice and means.

Outro: Creators Creating Value

In TV Is the New TV, Michael Wol2 (>?0/) argues that the scale of the Internet has destroyed the value of media content. Media scarcity has been replaced by a dehumanizing algorithmic culture that is dictated and controlled by platforms that exploit users, converting their techno- presence into target practice for a culture of hyperconsumption. 5is chapter, on the other hand, has argued that building and maintaining a sustainable career— a concern with the bottom line— is a very human dimension of SME content production and is inextricable from the struggle to create meaning and value. Beyond survival and monetary

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value, the community and cultural value so generated are explored in chapters G and /.

Our theoretical framework has sought to balance critiques of cre- ative labor and algorithmic culture with more agentive frameworks of entrepreneurialism and spreadable media. Our field approach, grounded by interviews with a relatively large and diverse creator set, has pointed to the potential for empowered agency relative to tradi- tional media labor. Not in any way wishing to downplay the precari- ousness of SME labor conditions, nevertheless we have argued that it has been possible for the more successful creators to carve out a level of agency that is distinctive and may— as we note in chapter D— underpin greater longevity than the intermediary companies that were brought into being to manage SME.